


my stupid cliche oversized sleep t-shirt has your face on it (noodle x reader)

by poppiess



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Angst, Diners, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Headcanons Everywhere, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Noodle, Nightmares, Trauma, i cant tag, im a useless lesbian sorry, katsu is mentioned once maybe twice, suuuuper self indulgent, theres at least one paragraph thats just me melting over her face and eyes, theres hurt and comfort, you sneak out and go on a midnight date together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:54:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18611401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppiess/pseuds/poppiess
Summary: and i know you thought a midnight diner date would be super romantic because you’re adorable and it’s midsummer and i love the stars, but having me climb down the side of a house whilst half-asleep at 2am in shorts was really not one of your most terrific ideas, and i’ve twisted my ankle but i love you so much that it doesn’t really hurt at all. except it does. please carry me.[or: in which noodle shows up at 2am for a fun romantic date which spirals into a much-needed talk about bottling up emotions, then she takes you to a secondary location and the two of you watch london breathe]





	my stupid cliche oversized sleep t-shirt has your face on it (noodle x reader)

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: swearing, alcohol, past trauma, nightmares, windmill crash  
> set in phase four, you’re both in your early twenties because i got her age wrong sorry lmao

**_my stupid cliché oversized sleep t-shirt has your face on it_ **

 

_ and i know you thought a midnight diner date would be super romantic because you’re adorable and it’s midsummer and i love the stars, but having me climb down the side of a house whilst half-asleep at 2am in shorts was really not one of your most terrific ideas, and i’ve twisted my ankle but i love you so much that it doesn’t really hurt at all. except it does. please carry me.  _

 

_ warnings: swearing, alcohol,  _

_ set in phase four, you’re both in your early twenties because i got her age wrong sorry lmao _

 

and through a sleep-sodden haze, she’s down there, the heels of her combat boots sinking into the dark grass of your front lawn. yes, she’s down there: every hair in place, eyes sharp, gazing up at you with her face tilted sideways, obviously amused. your alarm clock reads 3am and she’s perfect. you almost laugh.

 

less than two minutes ago, you were asleep. now you’re awake and noodle’s wearing fishnets and she’s standing on your front lawn, a cigarette dangling idly between her fingers. you’re a little intrigued but more than a little confused, especially when she spots your ghostly silhouette through the dark glass and actually  _ smiles  _ at your obvious bedhead and under-eye circles. she nods enthusiastically, and her motive is clear - she wants you to join her.

 

because of-fucking-course she does. 

 

you wiggle the window latch around and it swings open with a creak. 

‘ _ what?’  _ you half-mouth half-whisper.

‘ _ come down! _ ’ she replies, and she’s grinning, full dimple, and  _ god fucking damn it you’re a homosexual. _

forcing the warmth from your cheeks, you lean a little further out of the window. ‘ _ why? _ ’

she gestures around, then at the sky. ‘ _ summer! stars! you took me to the beach last week and i wanted to repay you. anyway, adventure! _ ’

‘by pelting the side of my house with rocks?’

‘ _ shhhh!’  _ she holds up a finger. ‘ _ don’t want to wake your roommates. they can’t stand me. _ ’

‘ _ true. and they’ve all got a maths exam tomorrow, they’ll crucify me if i wake them now. _ ’

‘ _ get a move on, then! _ ’

you look over your shoulder nervously, then back to noodle. ‘ _ i’ve only got a shirt on! and sleep shorts. _ ’

‘ _ come on, it’s warm! _ ’

‘ _ but the shirt, it’s... _ ’ you wrap your arms around your chest. ‘ _ it’s embarrassing. it’s got… unicorns on it. _ ’

‘ _ awwh! can i see? _ ’

‘no!’ you yelp, forgetting to lower your voice. there’s a creak from across the hallway, but it quickly settles back to silence. ‘ _ no! i… well… _ ’

‘ _ it’s fine if you don’t want to come. really! i was just thinking of splitting a milkshake, y’know, one of those reeeally good ones from that 24-hour american diner round the corner… _ ’ noodle turns, as if to leave. you groan with frustration, push the window open fully and heave yourself onto the windowsill.

 

vines, bricks and scrubby grass swim through the darkness below you, and you feel a bit dizzy. but hey, for summer! and stars! and beaches and adventures and for noodle, goddamn it, for her. 

 

nervous, you shuffle backwards off the edge, finding footholds in gutter and cement. from there, you plan to traverse across the wall and drop neatly onto the porch roof, then make your way safely to the ground - but dreams don’t come true and you lose your grip after two seconds, fumbling with vines and brick for a comically long moment before you’re lying in the grass on your back, winded, gasping for air. your ankle sears.

 

‘shit, are you-‘ noodle kneels over you, eyes wide, her hands covering her mouth. 

you nod breathlessly, a stream of curse words falling from your mouth as you grip the grass and pull yourself up to a sitting position. ‘fine. ankle’s hurting like fuck, but it’s all good.’ 

she nods, seemingly unsure. ‘would you rather go back in?’

‘n-no! seriously, it’s all good. it’ll walk off.’ 

noodle nods again. there’s a moment of silence, of eyes meeting eyes, and then her lips are soft and cold. the kiss is gentle but loving, and you savour it. for a second, you’re not even on the face of the planet anymore - you’re floating, stellar, sweet. then she’s chuckling into it for some reason and you open your eyes, pulling apart. 

‘what?’

‘y/n… is that my face on your sleep shirt?’

‘ _ fuck! _ ’ your hands jump from her waist to cover it, but it’s way too late. ‘ _ shit! _ ’

noodle is giggling into her forearm, and her eyes are all starry and bright and holy  _ cockballs  _ you think you might die. ‘ _ why?’ _

‘because my friends thought it would be a laugh to get me your merch for my birthday!’ you groan, scarlet. noodle is shaking with laughter. ‘ _ w-what!  _ it was before you got back from…’ her face suddenly twitches and you quickly veer away from the subject, pretending you didn’t notice. ‘well, i didn’t think… i didn’t know we’d be…  _ you know! _ ’ 

‘you’re so cute.’ she kisses your flushed forehead and you bury your face into your hands. ‘so are your little sleep shorts.’

‘wow, thanks. you look…’ you take her in for a moment. ‘wow.’

‘overdressed?’ 

‘for the front lawn of my shitty london terrace house? yeah.’

she smiles. she’s wearing a large leopard-print fur coat over a sleeveless pinstriped button-up tucked into tight black shorts, with an electric blue belt and heeled combat boots.  _ step on me already, jesus fucking christ.  _

you pull away from her and brush the remaining leaves off your front. 

‘well, now i’ve cocked up the ‘sneaking out’ part of a midnight date, should we get off my property?’

‘read my mind,  _ koishii _ .’ she extends her hand and you take it, letting her pull you up. the second you rest weight on your ankle you give a yelp of pain.

‘that bloody  _ hurts! _ ’

‘can you walk?’

you stumble forwards but catch yourself on her arm. ‘i can limp? it’ll be f-  _ oh!’ _

noodle scoops you up in her arms as quickly and easily as if she were carrying a parcel. you blush fiercely, but don’t protest - you have front row seats to a close-up view of her face, which is beautiful, just like the rest of her.

 

and the undersides of her eyelashes are so light they’re almost white, and her skin is cool on the surface and moon-pale, and her irises are dark and knowing, holly green under a film of gold. 

 

sometimes the gold is pollen-soft. sometimes it’s honey-dark. sometimes her fingers tremble with fury as feet edge closer, closer; sometimes her very skin and bones murmur  _ danger _ as a dusky gaze settles low inside her skull; sometimes something - something in her quivering lips, in the sweeping curve of her cheek - sings electricity, lightning. sometimes she’s a oil thunderstorm on a fine ivory canvas. sometimes she’s the seething, toiling clutches of the ocean deep. 

 

you’ve seen the constellations in her eyes, but you’ve seen the metallic glint of a gun there, too. you’ve seen her blow smoke.

 

now there’s neon beneath her eyelashes as she looks up at the glowing sign that reads  _ diner!  _ and smiles, her fingers hooked around your knee and waist. bright and undaunted by the late hour, she kicks open the door (as her hands are, quite literally, full) and strides over to the nearest table, depositing you in the booth. you stick your tongue out at her and she plants a teasing kiss on your cheek in response before marching over to the counter.

‘one large strawberry milkshake, please,’ noodle grins chipperly at the practically catatonic worker, who shrugs, as if he serves perfectly dressed and cheerful world-famous guitarists every 2am, and gets to work. she fiddles with the collar of her coat as she waits, her fingers absent-mindedly wriggling out the chords of  _ re-hash _ . her gaze is distant and the words drift into your head,

 

_ it’s a sweet sensation, over the dub  _

_ i want a situation, that don’t wanna stop. _

 

_ it was the first of their songs you heard and one of your favourites to this day. you remember being ten years old and sitting cross-legged on your bed, open-mouthed as the song wound itself around you, gazing up wide-eyed at your crackly radio, letting the warmth of the guitar wash over your skin. later, you found out the girl with the skinned knees and clunky blue helmet, who walked tightrope-style along the gutters of the houses over the road as you watched in awe and seemed to live out on the local cursed burial-ground-turned-landfill-turned-derelict-essex-moor, played and sang that very song. she never showed up to school, but one day you caught her - _

 

_ she was perched on the roof of next door’s shed, hugging her knees, gazing silently at the sunset. it was wishy-washy, watered-down, polluted by distant city lights and low-hanging grey fog. faded, yet strangely alluring - crimson bled into mackerel, which bled into green eyes, heavy eyes, eyes which trailed slowly from the dipping sun over to you. you’d quietly pulled yourself up onto the cold tin roof, where she sat: nearly eleven, washed in red light and gentle curiosity, foreign and unfamiliar and almost timid. you realised, suddenly, how lonely she must be. _

 

_ you handed her a scrubby daisy you’d plucked from the dirt behind the bins, and the rest was history. _

 

‘hey, sleepy-head!’

you look up from the placemat in front of you. noodle sets down the milkshake and slides into her seat, resting her chin on her fist. she looks thoughtful for a moment as she reaches for one of the straws - something is quite obviously wrong.

‘strawberry? seriously?’ 

‘i like strawberry!’ she replies defensively, resting a hand to her heart, mock offended. you giggle.

there’s a second of awkwardness, as noodle stirs the drink and takes a sip. ‘er… ever grown strawberries before?’ you blurt out, not really knowing what to say.

noodle, however, smiles fondly. ‘a big patch of wild strawberries used to grow outside kong. i picked them, gave a couple to ‘d… he’d never had wild strawberries before either. we ate them together in the kitchen.’ 

‘i’ve never had wild strawberries. are they different to normal strawberries, then?’

she nods. ‘sharper. they’re good, though, we practically ate a whole bush. ‘course, kong was a toxic landfill, so they turned out to be pretty poisonous. we spent the next day vomiting violently, and i distinctly remember him mutating in some way. possibly grew a beak? i was pretty out of it, it may’ve been a hallucination. also, i was twelve.’

‘...ah.’

‘it was weirdly funny, though. it was the first time we’d ever done something fun together. i’d never really hung out with the boys before, never been their equal, i always seemed to… watch their shenanigans, from the sidelines. i was part of the band, of course, just as talented as them, but the age gap and the language barrier left me… well, left me out, i s’pose.’

you sip the drink, nodding at her to continue. she obviously has something on her mind - maybe this is the road to her opening up about it.

‘there still is, i feel. a bit of a gap. i mean, well, i can communicate with them now, which is great, but i’m still the youngest and the girl. and the boys, i love them, but they’re shit role models… murdoc routinely offered me alcohol when i was ten. i learnt a lot from them, but most things i taught myself. social customs and tampons and whatnot.’

you nod again, letting her know you’re listening. there’s a tremble in her wrists now as she stirs the drink faster. 

‘and i… well, people say i’m… wise beyond my years. and that’s sometimes a good thing, but… fuck, y/n. i was shooting guns before the age of five. i’ve fought and i’ve seen people die before my very eyes and i’m not even 25, and i’ve been around the world and i’ve been wound into murdoc’s plots and schemes and i’ve been coughed at by snooty fucking critics and i’ve d- i’ve- well, el mañana.’

_ she’s talking about el mañana.  _ she’s shaking hard now, genuinely shaking. you’ve seen her like this before, once or twice, but now she’s tearing up and that’s really something rare. you reach for her hand and she allows you to take it, lets you run your thumb over her knuckles, comforting her. she exhales deeply.

‘i love them but they’re clueless. they have no idea how i  _ feel,  _ they think i’m just this… their tough little girl, stoic and silent, who plays guitar and beats murdoc at 50 consecutive rounds of poker then disappears to fight crime and is smart, but not  _ too _ smart. sometimes i think they think i’m just… not even real. like i’m absolutely perfect, just because i’m not a crackhead or possessed or drunk all the time. i’m young and healthy and pretty! wow, i’m sure the  _ many _ traumatic events i’ve witnessed just ran down the metaphorical drain!’

 

a tear brims over. she forces it back, clenching your fingers. as softly as possible, you reach for her other hand and stroke it gently. ‘breathe, okay? i’m so glad you’re not bottling up your emotions, love. you’re doing perfect. just breathe with me.’ you take deep, steady breaths, and she copies you shakily with a watery smile.

‘thanks. you’re… fuck.’ tears are running down her face, and she sniffs hard, laughing weakly. ‘thank you.’

‘thank you, for opening up. i love you, okay?’

‘i love you too. so much.’ she stares at the table for a few moments, chewing on her lip.

‘noodle…’ your voice is soft, hushed. ‘why did you really come here tonight?’

there’s a long pause, and then-

‘nightmare,’ she whispers. ‘started the same as always. helicopters, rubble falling. fire. bullets, plaster between my fingers, the great roar of windmill sails hitting the air. dirt in my mouth, under my nails, in my nose. then i start to choke, which is usually when i wake up with my pillow in between my teeth, only this time i… didn’t.’ she swallows hard. ‘i relived the fall again. i felt the island dip, splutter, shudder to a halt then… then it was falling, falling, falling. too fast to scream, to breathe, to think. biting wind battling flames just an inch from my face, mason’s strangled yelling as he pounded on the door, the windmill beginning to c-crumble…’

you’re at loss for words. ‘you don’t have to keep going if you don’t-‘

‘i have to, i- i  _ need  _ to.’ she clutches the edge of the table. ‘when it happened for real all those years ago, i kept my head and got to the parachute. that’s how i survived. but i’ve never been able to stop thinking about what would’ve happened if i hadn’t. just one second of hesitation, of hysteria, and… that’s why the nightmares keep happening, even though i’m twenty three and manson’s dead and the windmill’s disintegrated in some canyon, miles and miles away. because even though it’s over, it’s not - at least, it’s not for me. murdoc can drink it away, 2d probably already forgot, russ has put it behind him. but i  _ can’t,  _ no matter how hard i try. it’s there behind my eyelids at night, it’s behind the hearth. it’s written across my face.’

your fingers ghost her cheek. there’s a familiar glossy sheen of makeup over rough burns. you’ve seen them naked before, but she never talks about them.

‘it’s not vanity - i don’t mind a couple of scars. it’s the meaning behind them, y-y’know? it’s a reminder of how close i came to death. a reminder of no matter how perfect everyone thinks i am… well, i’m not.’

‘how long have you been…’  _ having nightmares?  _ you don’t finish the sentence. 

‘they started afterwards, when i was travelling. they were nightly when the black clouds shot me off my ship and i was stranded in the ocean. i dream about that, too. miles and miles of saltwater and cold and empty darkness.’ she shudders. ‘for a few years after plastic beach, they were far and few. but now we’ve released the new album, and muds is talking to some dodgy people again. i’m not scared of the black clouds, or the boogeyman or flying or fire, i barely flinch when i hear helicopters, and i’m fine with heights. i’m not scared, i’m really not, i’m just…’ she trails off and leans back, tears running down her face. ‘sorry, this is so stupid.’

 

‘look at me. you’re afraid.’ you hold her hands tightly. ‘you’re rational and you’re sensible, and you’re afraid. and you’re  _ allowed  _ to be. listen,’ you cut in front of her as she opens her mouth to defend herself, ‘el mañana was incredibly traumatic. you almost  _ died! _ that’s not just something that goes away. you’re still suffering nightmares and murdoc’s not making things any better. but you can’t control these things! so don’t apologise, because that’s bullshit, okay?’

‘it’s my fault,’ she chokes out. ‘i agreed to it. i wanted to leave them. i’m pathetic.’

she looks downwards again, but you force her to meet your eyes. 

‘noodle, i can say with complete and utter truth that you are absolutely fucking terrifying.’

she snorts and opens her mouth, but you stop her again.

‘shut up and drink your milkshake, okay? you’re the scariest person i know. you ride a motorcycle and race fast cars and walk tightrope on city rooftops. you could kill someone with a toothbrush and never get caught. you play guitar in one of the biggest bands in the world, and you don’t let  _ anyone  _ give you shit. you take no orders and you’re spontaneous and you’re probably insane.

 

‘but you’re not  _ just _ that. you’re not some leather-skinned… well, robot. you dance around your room like a nerd and sing to yourself whilst cooking and i’m absolutely certain you’d die for your cat, and you cried at shrek the musical and you do the little sunday sudoku puzzles for no reason and you murmur ‘horse!’ really quietly every time we pass a horse on the motorway. and then once, 2d was feeling really sad, and you did his makeup for him for a laugh, and he was so happy after that he spammed us all with those selfies you took together.’

‘did he?’ noodle’s smiling now, wiping her tears away. ‘oh my god, remind me to kill him later.’

‘he absolutely did and i printed them out and locked them in a drawer for blackmail. speaking of selfies, i know about all your mini 1am photoshoots.’

‘nooooo!’ she giggles into her hands. ‘is this reassurance or just harassment?’

‘the ones where you and katsu wear matching bandanas are adorable, by the way. but aside from that… you cheer us all up when we’re feeling sad. who cheers you up?’

‘you do, of course!’

‘maybe i do, but you don’t really show when you’re sad, you know? you’re kind of hard to read, babe.’ 

she raises an eyebrow. ‘so you  _ want _ me to cry on you?’

‘just… talk to us, okay? you’ve been having nightmares for years and you’ve barely even talked about the incident. i’m not saying you  _ have _ to talk to me, but how about murdoc? or russel? they love you so much, of course they’d be willing to listen. and i’m here too, always, even at 2am.’

her eyes fill with tears again and she presses her hand over her mouth. ‘t-thank you. i’m so sorry, this was meant to be romantic. i didn’t mean to-‘

‘shut up,’ you smile, leaning over and literally shutting her up with your lips on hers. the surface of the table is cold.

 

she pulls away, cradling your chin lovingly, running her fingers down your cheekbones, tracing the line between the harsh flare of the fluorescent diner lamps and the cool darkness from the window. you giggle then gasp as her lips brush your neck. your hands reach for her thighs and she deepens her kiss before pulling away with a grunt.

‘bloody table’s digging into my ribs.’

‘finish your milkshake then,’ you grin, fishing for your straw and taking a long sip.

 

the walk (well, guided hobble) from booth to door seems to take hours, and even when the cool air hits you from outside noodle keeps walking. instead of heading home, though, she turns abruptly and leads you down a tucked-in alley you’d never noticed before. there’s a noticeable lack of streetlamps and you give her a questioning look. 

‘it’s pitch black down there.’

she nods and takes your hand. ‘trust me, okay?’ 

then she’s swallowed by the kind of thick darkness your eyes never adjust to. 

 

after a few minutes of blind silence, noodle stops. you’re afraid she’ll let go of your hand and leave you to the void, but instead she guides you to something cold and metal.

‘a ladder?’

‘we have to climb. don’t worry, i’ll help you.’

you grope clumsily for a second rung, then pull yourself up. you crane your neck and see faint light above. then her hands are on your thighs, and that alone is enough to motivate you to  _ climb like a little bitch. _

your foot slips once or twice, but she’s always there to catch it, and after a while the end is in sight. you scramble over the last few rungs and tumble out onto cracked and filthy concrete, noodle close behind you.

 

‘well,’ you pant. ‘that was graceful-‘

 

the view snatches your words away. below you lies a sprawling labyrinth of flickering streetlamps and dimly lit windows and snaking concrete roads that wind through row upon row of crammed-in terrace houses, their wonky slate roofs dipping and slanting like waves in a large dark ocean. the meek residences move into blocks of flats, which in turn rise and morph into monstrous buildings, skyscrapers, bridges, cranes, misshapen teeth studding the ugly jaw of central london. the thames is flat and pressed up against the distant horizon, but you swear you can make out the boats, packed tight with crates and boxes and passengers, cutting silently through oily water. and even at this late hour, people - pacing insomniacs washed in nasty yellow light and tourists bathed in the neon glow of leicester square and stumbling drunks and lost causes and thinkers and dreamers and the two of you. 

 

london. it’s grotesquely beautiful, the way the lights twinkle. 

 

you know where you are now, at the top of one of those huge brutalist high-rises they knocked up during the late 60’s, one which is already practically crumbling. it’s a lonely old building, and so ugly that everyone who lives in its shadow can’t help but give it a sideways glare, ten floors of identical flats. you could never see why someone would want to live here - although now, with the strangely mesmerising view below you, you sort of get it. the wind’s bitter, though, and you press against noodle for warmth and stability.

 

she shrugs off her jacket and sinks down onto the concrete. you follow her, crossing your legs, allowing your gaze to linger on the skyline for a few minutes more. 

 

‘i come here when everything gets too much.’

you want to turn and face her, oh, you do, but you can tell she’d rather you didn’t.

‘sometimes i bring my guitar. sometimes a book or two. sometimes i’m up here for hours and hours, entire nights, writing songs i’ll never show anyone. look, i’ve got a little… hold on.’

you hear her shuffle away, then she’s passing you a little basket. inside, there’s a small ukulele, a couple of cigarettes, three books, a lighter and a vodka bottle filled with water. there’s something else in there too - you move the books to the side and scoop it out. it’s the bracelet you gave her for her birthday. 

‘it’s just some emergency supplies, y’know? stuff that grounds me.’ she takes the bracelet from you and twirls it around her fingers, smiling faintly. ‘i’ve never shown this place to anyone. ‘cept murdoc, actually, that’s why the bottle’s there, we were both feeling kind of shitty and i didn’t want to leave him like that, so… he doesn’t really come up here though. it’s mine.’

‘it’s really… wow.’ you look out over london again, not quite sure what to say.

‘i keep blankets and pillows up here, too, just in case it’s a long night. and i’ve wanted to tell you about it for so long, but… well...’

‘it’s alright. i get it.’

‘cool.’

‘cool.’

 

silence for a few more minutes, and then -

‘i’m sorry about earlier.’

‘how many times do i have to tell you not to be sorry?’

‘not about the…. that. i mean i’m sorry for not talking to you sooner. you’re my girlfriend, i should’ve opened up to you a long time ago.’

you turn to her, shuffling onto your knees and interlacing your fingers. 

‘don’t be sorry. you’re not obligated to tell me absolutely everything, you know?’

‘yeah, i know, i just…’ she looks down at the bracelet, and when she opens her mouth again, her voice is small. ‘you’re the one constant in my life. the one person i can always count on. the one thing that isn’t,’ she gestures around, ‘crazy. i didn’t want to complicate anything between us.’

‘i understand, alright? but i want you to be happy and comfortable, and you can’t be that if you’re bottling up your negative emotions.’

noodle sighs. ‘god, i love you so much.’

 

your kneecaps are touching, your faces are inches apart.

‘i love you too. i always have.’

‘i’m afraid,’ she breathes, brushing her fingers over your knuckles. ‘i’m so fucking afraid.’

‘don’t be. at least, not right now.’

 

and then she’s kissing you and you’re kissing back, and it’s different from the first time - earlier was cool and sweet, slow, loving, soft. now her lips are firm and fierce. she reaches for your hips and you gasp into the kiss, wrapping your arms around your neck and tilting your head. the lights, the rooftop, london, they all fall away, leaving the two of you suspended, far away from earth, rising through the atmosphere. then your legs are around her waist and it’s hot, hot, hot, desperate, aggressive -

 

it seems like an eternity of burning before you’re forced to separate to gulp down some air. noodle’s gazing at you, eyes simmering. she leans in again, this time over your shoulder. 

‘look at you,’ she breathes into the shell of your ear, her fingers sliding from your hips to your face, brushing over your cheekbones. ‘lips all swollen. cheeks all flushed….. you’re so beautiful.’

you can’t suppress a shiver. ‘you’re g-gorgeous too, you know.’

‘you’re a great kisser. i bet you had girls lining up for you before me.’ 

‘nope,’ you shake your head discreetly, adrenaline pounding through your head like a big bass drum. ‘it’s always been you. i could never even imagine anything else.’

‘that’s a relief,’ her voice is low and sultry, ‘because we seem to fit together perfectly, if you’ve noticed.’

 

your lips hit, and it’s chaste and bloody and so, so, so wonderful. then she’s giggling into it again and you pull away with a smile. 

‘what?’

‘honestly?’ she grins, ‘kissing you in that t-shirt wasn’t as awkward as i thought it would be.’

you aim a playful slap at her face and she recoils in mock-pain. 

‘y/n!’ she gasps, pouting. ‘how  _ dare  _ you-  _ hey! _ ’ 

she bowls you over and you’re rolling, scuffling, laughing into the concrete, dusty and scratched. after a few minutes of tussling, she pins you down by your wrists, hanging over your face. her lips graze your neck.

‘g-geroff!’

‘make me,’ she scrunches up her nose and sticks out her tongue.

‘adorable,’ you breathe, more to yourself than to her. noodle smiles, but her eyes wander, and the next thing you know she’s releasing your wrists and flopping down at your side. you nestle into her, and she’s warm and sweet and so, so comfy...

 

‘y/n?’

your eyes refuse to open. ‘mmmmm?’ 

‘you nodded off for a few moments there. are you alright?’

‘mmmmm.’ you hum in reply, far too tired to formulate proper words. 

‘uh-huh. let’s get you home, then.’

‘nnnnghhh!’

‘come on, love, up we go…’ her gentle hands help you up to a standing position. you sway on your feet as she walks you over to the ladder then guides you downwards, one step at a time. by the end of the climb she’s practically carrying you, but you make it safely to the ground. without a moment’s hesitation, she scoops you up in her arms, and the second you’re off the ground you’re fast asleep.

 

‘ _ home again _ ,’ she murmurs into your ear. ‘ _ got a spare key? _ ’

you blink yourself awake and she deposits you on your tiny drive. ‘ _ mhm _ ,’ you stifle a yawn. ‘ _ under the potted plant. watch for the mice _ .’

she fishes around for a moment. ‘ _ got it _ .’ 

you wiggle it in the lock and push the door open as quietly as possible. it’s dark and silent inside, and your stomach lurches at the thought of noodle leaving.

‘ _ well, i… suppose this is it, huh? _ ’ she gives a small, sad smile. her hands are in her pockets and she’s staring at her shoes. you remember the reason she came to get you, and suddenly the idea of her having to sleep alone in a big empty bed is unbearable.

you flop forwards and wrap your arms around her waist. ‘ _ i’m not letting you go _ .’

‘ _ come on _ ,’ she prompts softly. ‘ _ get to bed. we don’t want to wake your roommates _ .’

‘ _ we can get you home in the morning. they won’t mind too much. _ ’

‘ _ y/n _ -‘

‘ _ i am very tired and i would very much like to go to sleep now, please! would you mind escorting me up the stairs?’ _

noodle’s laugh is full of all the love in the world. ‘ _ alright, then. _ ’ she runs her fingers through your hair before scooping you up again and heading for the bannister.

 

and through a sleep-sodden haze, she’s there, her cheek on your pillow, her arms cradling you close, her body warm and her breathing slow and sweet. you’re achingly tired but you forced yourself to wait until noodle fell asleep, just in case - now that she’s drifted off, you can finally shut your eyes, too. or maybe… she shifts in her sleep and you smile softly. maybe you won’t for a moment. not just yet.

 

and the undersides of her eyelashes are so light they’re almost white, and her skin is cool on the surface and moon-pale, and her irises (although you can’t see them right now) are dark and knowing, holly green under a film of gold. 

 

fin :)


End file.
